Home Notes From the Fishing Grounds

Upland greens

Laura and I went to the fiddlehead pasture today.  Fiddleheads were plentiful.  Nettles were sparse.  I made Tongass Pesto last in 2017 and we are on the last bag of it from the freezer, so I needed some nettles to go with equal volumes of fiddleheads and devils club buds to make more.  I need to look around for another nettles honey hole.  
A nice day to be up the hillside in the high country.  The fiddleheads at sea level are largely passed picking, but up in our pasture they were fine.  We also saw the whole top of the hillside giveway in an avalanche, which made us look up the chute we were in to be sure we weren’t in danger.  
I brought the book by Janice Schofield’s book of Alaska plants back from the cabin after I “discovered” it there a few weeks ago.   When I looked around the chute we were in, I realized there really aren’t  that many species of greens coming up in the plant community there.  One plant I noted that was growing all over the place and identified from the book was False Hellebore, which is poisonous.  Good to know.  Lots of twisted stalk coming up, too, which Chef John Cox and Hanni introduced me to many years ago, but I don’t know if there’s a way to preserve it, so I just snacked on some of it fresh, but didn’t collect any.
Only one or two other green plants coming up I need to learn and then I’ll know about all of them on the slope. 
When I got home, it was time to clean the fiddleheads.  Normally, I put them in a pillow case and put in the in clothes dryer on air fluff.  This time, I thought I’d try it in a little backpack that had a zipper that I thought would be a nice convenient closure for doing batches of fiddleheads, instead of tying off a pillow case.  It worked great until the last batch.  I put a little rock in the outer pocket of the pack to see if it helped clean the fiddleheads.  Not sure if that made the difference, but the zipper on the main compartment opened, and I had fiddleheads and chafe all over the inside of the dryer.  I put the fiddleheads back in the backpack and removed it from the dryer, cleaned out the chafe as best I could, then pulled out the lint screen and turned the dryer back on.  The chafe was sucked out the dryer vent in short order, cleaning out the dryer, and I put the lint screen back in.  Problem solved.

Spring Hunting and Gathering

Took my buddy Jeff bear hunting. He loves to eat black bear. I’ve eaten it, but never been interested in hunting for bear. I have been wanting to harvest some kelp to make relish, salsa and pickles. And especially after attending the kelp farming workshop this winter, I was armed with a lot more information on how kelp grows and this made me more enthusiastic to harvest some, which I’ve never done.

The weather has been hot, hot, hot. I used to say I never need it warmer than 70 degrees. Well, it’s 70 degrees. No I say, I never need it warmer than 60 degrees. We left on a bluebird day at 6 am with light winds and blue skies.

The spring bear hunting trips I’ve tagged along on in Southeast Alaska are pretty simple. You cruise the beaches looking for bears to be out eating the new grasses on the beach. South of Juneau,  you travel on the waterways between primary land masses of the mainland and Admiralty Island. There are both black and brown bears on the mainland, and only brown bears on Admiralty Island. So we ran the mainland shore. We saw some killer whales at the mouth of the Taku River in Taku Inlet. We saw humpback whales a couple times down Stephens Passage. There were about 50 sea lions barking at each other on a haul out. Lots of cruiser boats were in Taku Harbor. We turned into Port Snettisham and found some beautiful coves.  What a day.

We didn’t see any bears. We did pick bull kelp in a couple spots. This was my first time harvesting. In the second spot, the kelp had herring spawn on it. We each tried it, and then it was game on. One swath of spawn on kelp for the cooler, one to eat. One swath for the cooler, one to eat. I thought I was way over doing it but couldn’t help myself and we filled the cooler. I thought – I’m gonna regret this when I get home and have to process it all. It was all very exciting understanding what I was seeing on the kelp. The plants we were picking had grown all this mass since last fall, and the brown splotches on the fronds were the spores that are the seed that would eventually release to seed next year’s crop.

Turns out, what we harvested was just right. The processed kelp broke down to about 16 lbs of stipe, a 6 gallon bucket of naked frond, and 3 gallons of fronds with spawn. The stipes should make a batch each of relish, pickles, and salsa. I vac packed the spawn on kelp pieces. The naked fronds I hung in the garage to dry. I’ll plan to somehow pulverized the dried kelp to use later as a powder for seasoning.

Hooters gone silent

I took Nick, the son of my inlaw’s cousin, hooter hunting today.  He had deckhanded on his uncle’s seiner for several years, and just finished his marine biology degree at UAS.  
A glorious day about 70 degrees, sunny and a slight breeze.   We went to Admiralty Island where Bob and I got 2 birds and missed out on two others a few days earlier, when birds hooting all around us.  Not sure why, but we couldn’t hear any birds hooting as we climbed up the hill.  Usually, you can hear birds up on the ridge, but if those birds were calling, they were barely audible.  I noticed (again) I’m getting old, as Nick could hear birds further away that I could not.
About half way up the hill, we stopped to listen, then took off our packs for a drink of water.  We started talking- one of the joys of hooter hunting, because you don’t have to be quiet as the birds don’t care – and sat there a good half hour or more.  And then a bird hooted about 50 yards away.  And another one answered 100 yards up the hill from that one.
We had to negotiate a train wreck of dead falls to get to the tree the bird was calling from.  As we got close, I could see ahead there was a deadfall across little swale I could duck under to get to the tree the bird seemed to be in. As I neared the deadfall, the bird exploded from his perch on that deadfall, to a nearby tree, landing low in the tree.  Nick saw it right away.  It was still so close that when we tried to get in position for a shot, it exploded again, flying to a nearby tree below us to a low branch.  We moved down in the bird’s direction, and Nick soon saw him, again in a low branch. 
Nick had my .22, and was getting a rest for a shot.  I had the 12 gauge further down the slope and would be back up.  Nick kept trying to shoot, but the gun wasn’t firing.  I asked him to look at the shell from the chamber to see if it had a dimple in it so we’d know if the problem was the ammo or the gun.  No dimple, he said.   He finally, told me to take the bird, which I did.  
As soon as I shot, Nick realized he was actually moving the safety in the wrong direction.  I felt bad for him as I know what it’s like to use an unknown gun for the first time.  I should have checked the gun when it wouldn’t fire but we were too anxious to get the bird.
I showed the bird to Nick, put it in my pack, and we climbed half way from our position to the upper muskeg at the base of the mountain to try for the second bird we’d heard.  We spent another 30 minutes waiting there, and eating some smoked salmon Nick had made with cohos he caught from the beach in Juneau last summer, using his mom’s smoking recipe.  It was very good.  The bird never piped up.
We worked our way up to the lower muskeg. We could hear birds rather softly hooting further up on the ridge, but there wasn’t time to get to them as I had to get back for scouts.

We saw a lot of scratching on the muskeg up there.  Just barely scratching of the surface, and not deep down digging.  Don’t remember seeing this before.  There were lots of these little ~ 3 ‘ x 8’ scratches.  Seemed like a brown bear would have scratched deeper but maybe they have that dexterity.  Nick noticed a last little patch of snow, so I plucked and cleaned our bird, and packed it with snow to cool it down.

We headed back down to the beach.  The mountain greenery had exploded since being here just a few days earlier.  We came across some skunk cabbage dug up by a smaller brown bear.  It was one of the first times I’d actually seen the foot prints in the mud of these digs, as it was a recent dig and there had been no rain for a week.   I wondered if this was the young brown bear that was terrorizing some residents of a nearby island with summer cabins.  Not really for any bad deeds, but merely by it’s presence, much of which has been discovered on web cams. Bears have been coming and going from the island long before people put their cabins there,  and long after the cabins were built, but were not under the modern surveillance, so they went unnoticed from the cabins that are used only part time by all but one of the island residents. 

I was happy to see the boat floating nicely at anchor when we got back.  Finally, a trouble free end of trip.  Just pull the anchor and go.  Except the anchor was hung up.  We could budge it a foot or two once in awhile, but it would not come free.  Finally, Nick stripped down to his boxers and tee shirt and waded out.  The anchor chain had fouled in a tree on the bottom.  I saw the tree on the beach when I set the anchor on , but didn’t figure it would be a problem – why didn’t it float?  He freed the anchor and brought the boat to shore.  I told him to just hop on the boat and I would hand him his clothes and gear.  But, too late, he realized why I was telling him this – all the barnacles on the rocks.  He felt a pain in his foot.  As we were motoring away, he saw he cut his foot in the meaty pad underneath the base of the toes pretty deeply, but it did not bleed and was incredibly clean.  He got out his first aid kit and dressed the wound. 
Back at the launch ramp, I handed Nick the bird.  He thought I should have it since I shot it, but I told him shooting isn’t the tough part – seeing the bird is, and he’d done that.  He looked excited to try his first grouse.
Andrew and I were to go hunting on Friday, the last day of the season.  I got a text from him when I got home.  He said more Covid 19 had been discovered at the prison, where he sometimes works as part of his job.  The state was going to test all the staff and prisoners, including him, and he did not know who the infected people were so he could not guess if he had been in contact with them.  Did I still want to go hunting with him?  We decided it would be better to wait to do something else, as the birds had gone largely silent.  I also told his son not to attend scouts tonight until we had Andrew’s results back.  Andrew seemed relieved with my answer.

Springtime in Alaska

It’s been an incredible second week of May here in Juneau town. In the 70’s during the day and light winds. It got to 80 a few days ago in Ketchikan and Craig. Meanwhile, it’s been snowing back in my hometown of Bolivar, NY.

I boated over to check the crab pots. Nothing but a couple small tanners in 4 pots!

I got a Lazyboy rocker recliner on Craiglist that was the exact same model we had in the house, and I packed this in to the cabin. The woodpile on the porch had fallen over, so I restacked it, ate some African food Andrew gave us for lunch, then took a sweet nap in the new recliner.

I planned to pick devils club buds today, but when I got down to the beach, I saw I was too late. The leaves had burst the bud sheaths and were past picking. But wait, I looked some more, and here and there were a few that were still good. So I spent some time and got a half a nut container of buds.  I’d noticed lots of devils club along the road near the boat launch, so I headed back home and thought I’d try there.

In any other year, there would be whale watching and other tour boats galore out on the water.  Now, just me and another local on the glassy water as there’s no cruiseships this summer due to the corona virus. Perhaps the first time there are no cruiseships or steamships coming to Juneau since before the gold rush in 1898.

There were some good stands of devils club by the boat ramp that still had pickable buds, and plenty of stands that were too far along. I picked down the road for a quarter mile or so and got maybe a couple quarts of buds.

Later, I drove up to look at the pasture where we get fiddleheads and nettles, expecting it to still be snow covered, and I was surprised to see it had all melted and there was even some green starting to show. So time to get up there.

Second Hand Crab Pots

Jeff and I have the same affliction. We both like look at other people’s stuff and buying other people’s stuff. With no garage sales and the thrift store closed due to the virus, we made a plan- to cruise the beaches where people set their crab pots and see if we could find any derelict pots ghost fishing.  I’ve happened along pots a few times when I would just happen to be out at a minus tide. The pots are not hard to spot – buoys and the crab pot line are covered with mussels and seaweed. Sometimes you can’t even see the buoy, but the clump of seaweed growing on it doesn’t look quite natural.

As we launched the boat, I could hear a hooter up the hill. I thought I’d go try to find him when we got back. We’re in for a stretch of beautiful May weather – in the 60’s and sun for several days.

The first pot we found was a commercial dungy pot. It had been there so long most of the framing had dissolved so it was just a circle of stainless steel mesh. We cut out the escape rings for use on other pots, and took the line and buoys.

The next pot we found was a jackpot, really. It was clearly a commercial pot because it had a special tab required by law for these pots. The buoy was covered with algae, but not seaweed or shellfish, so I figured it was not too long lost – probably from the most recent commercial opening last fall. We could read the numbers on the buoy. When I looked them up, I was happy to see I knew the boat. It was the same boat that saved Bob and I several years ago when my skiff capsized at anchor while we were out deer hunting. Talk about karma.

Jeff and I continued our tour, and saw a big shiny black bear on the beach, then a sea lion, a humpback whale, but no more pots.  Nobody was out and about except for a few local kayakers. Fishing is closed for king salmon and the cruiseship season is cancelled.

As soon as I got home, I called the crab boat skipper. Turns out he lives just out the road from us a couple miles, so delivered his pot to him. He wanted to give me the pot, but I refused- this was great partial payback for me.

Hooters. Again. Finally.

Finally got out hooter hunting after, if I remember right, I didn’t go at all last season. It seems like years are passing in 100 days now.

Bob and I went to a spot I hadn’t been since my Bolivar classmates came years ago. It was Bob’s first time hooter hunting. He’d harvested spruce grouse up north, but not these big grouse in Southeast Alaska.

We found a beach to anchor that was fairly protected from the 1 foot chop. The winds weren’t to come up today,  so I thought it would be okay. When we beached the boat to offload our gear, there was a beautiful plastic boat dock cart that somehow floated to this remove beach. In great shape. We were already making money for the trip.

We couldn’t hear many birds hooting as I anchored the boat and rowed to shore in the punt. It was a beautiful day. Partly cloudy, dry,  and on its way to about 50 degrees.

As soon as we got out of the white noise of breeze and waves on the shore and entered the big woods, we heard birds. We got to the first one after a short hike. We looked for this bird for 45 minutes or so. It wasn’t in the worst place I’d ever seen, but the bird was sitting somewhere up there that we just could not detect it.  At least that’s what I hoped it was, and not that I have 56 year old eyes and Bob’s eyes are a decade older.

We finally gave up and side-hilled  to the next bird, again a short hike on about the same elevation  This bird, too, seemed to evade us. We looked and looked and I thought – is this how it’s gonna be all day?  That we never see a bird?  After 20 minutes or so, I finally spotted the bird. When Bob looked at it, he didn’t think it was a bird. Then it moved.

I forgot to stop to get my 12 gauge shotgun I’d stashed at another skiff I have stashed in the area, but as Bob had a .410 over .22 and his .44 pistol, and because there were two of us, I didn’t go back to get it as I felt we were okay for the birds and protection from bears. I got this bird with the .410, and we side-hilled again a short hike to the next bird.

This time, it took us 5 minutes or less to spot the bird. He was high up in the tree, right next to the trunk, and facing away from us. I positioned myself below the tree in case the bird flushed, so I could see where it landed, and on the third shot with the open sites, but hit the bird with the .22. The bird immediately glided towards the ground about 50 yards to the right of Bob. I couldn’t see where the bird landed, but Bob did, and he mentally noted some land marks to where we’d search. He got to the spot, and I joined him about 5 minutes later from my position. There were blueberry bushes under the trees and a couple little creeks and the open green of the forest floor. I was very doubtful we’d find the bird since it went so far. It could run on the ground, and I’ve seen wounded birds crawl under a deadfall or into a hole to hide. We kept looking. I went a little further away than Bob was looking and as I crested the side of a little creek- there it was. I couldn’t believe it. Bob came over and collected his bird and we were both relieved, and I especially happy that Bob got a bird. On my way back to get our packs, I found a 3 point with eye guard shed as a bonus.

We went downhill to the next bird hooting, again a short hike. We found an almost full set of deer bones on the way. The bird was in a tree located in a muddy little flat that had lots of skunk cabbage. There were several deer tracks in the mud. And a very recent brown bear track. We saw this bird even faster than Bob’s bird. I laid down and had my back against a log and shot. And missed. The bird flushed, and went to a nearby copse of tree tops, but we didn’t see exactly where. No feathers fell from it, and it looked like the bird was flying in good health. We hoped it would start hooting again, but it did not. We decided to call it a day and head back to the boat.

I’ve hunted the side of this ridge for 20+ years, but rarely, if ever, happen to get to this section during deer season. I’ve been here a few times hooter hunting. We came to a series of beaver ponds. We weren’t sure if the ponds were active or not. Then we saw some fresh beaver sign. The beavers were working on a big tree 2 to 3 feet – maybe more-  in diameter. One side was about chipped to the middle, and on the other side  the beavers had stripped the bark and started in.  Almost look out of place in the wilderness where we were standing. Like it was man made.

We ambled our way along the ponds, and found our way down to the beach, right where we came in.  The boat was just about to go dry, and we got there too late to skid it into the water. We figured we had 3 hours to wait til the tide went the rest of the way out and came back in. We pulled the birds out of our packs, and plucked and dressed while we sat in the beach grass in the evening sun. As we lauched the boat on the rising tide, two mink ran by, one chasing the other and chirping. Spring is in the air.

Ten years ago I would have thought two birds for the day wasn’t that much and how I need to get back and get more before the season ends. Now, it was just a perfect day in the woods. I had some expected leg cramps overnight, but other than that, I slept like a baby. Luckier than ever to live here and still be able to get around, stiff knees and all.